Double, O' Amy
by MothsCry
Summary: Amy, a mysterious lady from America. Liam, a guy with ambition. Lauren, a girl with too big a smile. And Karma, has a lot of secrets. Yet, who is it in this web of mystery that is the villain and who is just a person wanting to make a name for themselves? Inspired by James Bond films.


Chapter One: "So, who the Fu* are you?

The rain splashed almost reluctantly against the windowpane of the creaking double decker, quiet unlike popular belief the bus was not a patriotic ruby red for England. Instead it was a white and yellow, the chosen colours of the bus company; a large corporation, who were actually based in Germany. However, Germany was still part of Europe, which in Amy's case was unlike her home town at all. In fact, until today, Europe was a place that Amy had never set foot in. She had heard the wondrous tales from her foster sister. How the Eiffel Tower shined at night with lost lovers' hearts. How the chocolate from Belgium was like sinking your teeth into heaven, while your taste buds were engulfed into sinful ecstasy.

Her foster sister Lauren, was one of the lucky ones. She had manipulated her way into the hearts, and minds of thousands, and then married a successful business man from Wall Street. Amy deemed him, the American Psycho of Wall Street —Boy she had fun at Christmas teasing them both. The utterly perfect pair. As you can deduct, they were both as equally as insane and manipulative as each other. Not that Amy didn't have her fair share of insane moments.

Letting the ear buds blast popular rock music into her brain, her green eyes watched the details of Urban London pass her vision. The, cold, cement buildings, all coated in blurry smudges as the rain began to increase in speed. So far, the image painted in her mind of the 'perfect' country, was not, in anyway, glamorous. The weather conditions had already began to alert her of old pains. The deeps aches in her left arm, from last summer's jobs returning in full strength. Reminding her of the constant dangers of her life.

Spiralling through the heart of the city, the musky smelling vehicle eventually came to a halt. An old lady, with a trolley the same size as her, having pressed the button that sent an almost deceitfully chirp ringing. It buzzed through the air, alerted the balding driver of the passengers who wanted to stream off. Mingle with the rest of the pedestrians who were running backwards and forwards, under the cover of grey skies and dismal rain.

With ease, her hands slipped on the hood of her dark jacket. A shadow instantly being cast over her features, concealing her ever curious eyes that always held a somewhat hopeful glimmer. With a delicate swipe of her tongue across her lips, she let her limbs find an even pace. Carefully flowing through the mass of people, some in suits, others in sweats and a shirt. A ridiculous outfit for the conditions that seemed to wreak havoc on the centre of London. Either way, she was accustom to having to deal with ridiculous sites and harsher weather conditions. It took no effort to find her way to the, largest, towering building in the area, that's entire left side was made up of glass windows. Continuing her powerful stride, she found herself at the front of the shinning spectacle. Her head bobbing ever so slightly at a bored looking security guard, whose duty was manning the spinning doors that reminded her of New York rather than London. Amy's mind automatically set into motion, counting the camera's, noticing how many men she would have to discard of if this went wrong.

One in plain sight.

Multiple watching from concealed areas.

Her tongue almost spat out one of her most used curse words 'fuck' as a women roughly her age joined her side. Amy could have sworn that there was no one there a moment ago. The open plan layout not holding any secret hiding places, just a simple white table in the center. Yet, a shorter, slightly curvier woman had attached her arm through hers. Guiding her towards one of the four elevators behind the centre desk, which had originally portrayed its self as a table, with a dozen are so armed men hidden beneath it. All of them sat watching monitors.

"Raudenfeld, I presume." The liquid soft voice inquired, as the red head flicked through a brown file. She was taking no notice of the blonde which was still shocked at a possible, fatal analytic error. If Amy wasn't on friendly ground, she could have been dead. The red head spoke again, "It's polite in our country to lower ones hood when in doors." this time a perfectly shaped eyebrow raised towards Amy, before lowering once moor as a ping accompanied the sound of sliding metal doors, allowing them both into the elevator.

The red head, whose name was yet to be spoken was also analysing, but her eyes were more focused on the lack of fashion Amy had. The woman dressed so masculine, that in a darkened alley it would be easy to interpret the woman for a man. Even the men who came dashing in, such as the red head's own Liam Booker, knew how to wear something appropriate for meeting the head of this establishment. Instead, Amy was dressed in cargo pants and an oversized, hooded jacket. She had went for comfort and ease, especially having had to sit on a plane for over 8 hours. Though the other woman still held an unimpressed expression. Although merely placed on a secretarial position, the red head still saw the outfit as not being prestige enough for an agent. The dark hazel eyes only drifted away from the blonde's clothing, once she had come to the conclusion that it was due to the fact the lady was American. Brits simply were better in her mind. Turning away, the redhead typed in a password onto the digital panel, built into the adjacent wall of the elevator. The green light of conformation flashed once, while she took a step back as it set itself into motion.

To spite the unnamed woman, Amy had left her hood up. "So, who the fuck are you?" she said in a low, defensive tone. As her body sulked against the glass mirror of the elevator like a moody teenager. The tension in the enclosed space kept building, it was like an electric current was snapping and sizzling between the two women. With a singular motion to smooth her blue suit out, the secretary smiled. It was dazzling, yet full of fabricated happiness. "Karma Ashcroft, ." A hand was thrust outwards, offered to the blonde as a sign of greeting. The hand hung in the air, but nothing greeted it. Unless you considered the glare coming from the agent who still had her hood up, covering her face from scrutiny.


End file.
